Outside, beyond the old, thick sycamore that pushed the sidewalk into pitchy waves, the streetlight cast an imperfect yellow glow on the street below. She had seen someone scurrying past about fifteen minutes ago-perhaps a student rushing home after realizing at closing time that he had an early class in the morning-but nothing since then. Two cats had crossed the street with no cars moving to worry them. Three a.m. pretty much belonged to the cats in this neighborhood.
Behind her-in the bedroom-she heard the bedsprings groan then, after a moment, exhale, as John got up. He padded silently up behind her where she leaned against the desk perfectly silhouetted in the dim light.
Without a word he stood beside her and followed her eyes. There were no lights on in any of the houses across or up and down the street as far as he could…
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